#laswell had chewed their ass up and spit them out

[shotmrmiller]

re: rugby team ghoap

it'd been a one-off, seize-the-moment kind of thing. casual hookups aren't really for you, plus you distinctly remember your ex prating on about how the team would only be here for the weekend hence the absolute burning need to go, and you've got work monday.

goodbye, great knowing them. you'd traipsed out of the hotel room with your sneakers in hand, soap's used jersey in the other- a memento of sorts, a trophy. mild serial killer behavior but you reckon since you just became another pearl in their long string of conquests, the least you could do is take something with you that won't be gone with a warm epsom salt bath and a couple of days rest.

("would ye believe yer the prettiest we've ever brought back with us?" right. you know where you stand on that scale, and people like you don't typically pull men like them. another cringe-worthy comment like that and you'd mistake their interest with pity.)

you'd put both jerseys in the wash later that day, and the rattling of your washing machine marked the end of your exciting weekend.

or so you'd thought. from your side of things, you'd wiped your hands clean of their sweat, spit and come and went home, once again falling back into semi-familiarity, expecting to go to work feeling completely relaxed and loose, in more ways than one, while ignoring the photos taken of you and the "star players" at the stadium on social media.

(no one caught your face, what bloody luck.)

when you see them again, it's by pure chance. you'd been ordering a sandwich at a deli down the street, hand already reaching for your wallet when an arm curls around your shoulders, dark, coarse hair of a forearm brushing against your cheek.

cedarwood and citrus. it clings to your senses— a sharp, tangy reminder of that time you'd only look back on when the familiar pang of want pooled searing hot between your legs. small world, you suppose.

"didnae leave a note. stole my jersey. 'm surprised ye didnae leave us money on the table, bonnie." warmth flared beneath your cheeks but you didn't cow to his crude joke.

"i suppose i could've left a tip. what do you want?"

the playful lines around his eyes smoothed as his lips straightened into a firm line, his eyes frostbitten. you ignore the way his touch makes you feel trapped, tethered, a cage made of velvet.

"took my shirt and then didn't show up to a single game after tha'. jus' gettin' wha' i'm owed. unless he's yer favorite."

how can he be your favorite when you know nothing about the sport they play and have no interest in knowing?

"too bad. we come as a package. get yer food, we've a place nearby."

(simon had been nowhere near as good-natured as johnny had about you leaving without a word. made you spit out apologies with swollen lips, only accepted the ones that came with a fluttering of your raw pussy around the splitting thickness of him while soap condescendingly cooed in your ear about lessons having to be learned the hard way.)

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie ⁓

Here we are, it's finally monday and we can hope again in having a good, productive week (please let it be a sunny one too I can't hibernate in April I need my photosynthesis).

I'm wondering what do you think of this little work of mine, so if you feel like it you can write me whatever comment/question/any various and possible magical shit.

Have a good chocolaty day ⁓

DISCLAIMERS: little bit of touching and hints about sub/dom relationship! Finally my kinks are emerging! (evil laugh); Ghost-who-needs-to-make-peace-with-his-brain x Reader-who-needs-to-learn-how-to-shut-up; "How to be a psychologist without a degree" (by John Price); embarassing mission I hope does not exist in reality, but i needed it for plot's sake; little bit of wounds and scars (Doc.'s gonna tie you and Ghost up to a chair for the rest of your life); yelling and fighting and arguing (you're used to it by now).

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Fourth part here:

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«Why the hell you've let her-»

«MacTavish»

Price swallows through the smoked breath, clenching his fingers around the consumed cigar just to distract himself from the willingness to punch a wall, or the Sergeant's face.

«I've already had Ghost yelling at me for half an hour. Spare me»

«Then explain yourself, Cap.»

«I can't. I've no explanation. She'd done it by herself»

«She's no insubordinate»

«Not in that sense». He sighs. «I told her no. I knew it was too much for a rookie». He chews the extinguished cigar for a while, taking his time. «Laswell agreed. But that goddamn girl managed to convince Kate, somehow»

«How come?»

«Dunno. But she's already feeling bad enough, and she was the one who's got to rescue the girl»

«Laswell?? Ye serious?»

Price nods, eyes locked at the door in front of them. The doc entered almost one hour ago.

«And» Soap dares to ask «is Laswell…uhm…»

«She's ok» the Captain anticipates him. «Nothing broken. But the rookie…». He sighs again, scratching the bridge of his nose, pushing lightly his digits on the eyes. «I don't like soldiers wasting their lives like this. Especially good ones»

«The mission had to be done anyway»

«We could have waited for a better plan»  

He takes a last chew on the cigar, spitting it on his glove before squeezing the leftover crumbles in his fist. He throws everything in a trashcan, then gazes at Soap.

«We've got shit to do, Sergeant. We'll come to check her later»

«They've done something bad to her». That wasn't really a question, even if Soap hopes to be wrong. «Am i right?»

«What came up in that bloody lil' head of yours?»

Three gunshots in your arm (the right one, 'cause luck kicks you in the ass as always), one blade wound and various bruises, just to complete the masterpiece. Doc sent you out of the bed with a promise: to try to not touch the medications.

One in particular.

You didn't even want to eat, but you need to. So breakfast has started, with chocolate scent, closed stomach and two pairs of gaze on your red face. You've tried to avoid contact with every human being in the base, but someone's got a good sense of smell for you. And you eventually end up with Soap and Gaz surrounding you with their (legitimate) questions.

You're blushing like hell, stirring oatmeal crumble in the mug with your eyes drowning into it.

«…I've thought…i could be helpful»

«You're a brave kid, but that was-»

«Stupid» Soap ends the sentence. «To say the least». He finishes his coffee in a sip, swallowing the hot liquid in a rush. «It wasn't a rookie's work, ye should've known» 

You nod in embarrassment. «I did know»

«Then why?»

«'Cause…» you swallow, burying your eyes more into the mug, scratching the cuticles skin out of the nails. «…a girl was required. For the mission»

«Hold on» Gaz grabs your shoulder, lowering his voice. It was a confidential subject, not the one to speak about in a crowded dining room. But he keeps on with his curiosity anyway. «It was about weapons traffic, wasn't it?»

You nod.

«Then why a girl?»

You're about to answer, your mouth's already open even if you're not sure if filling them with a temporary lie, or just spit the truth.

Another sudden press on your shoulder takes you off from every doubt.

A big hand grabs you firmly, squeezing skin and bones underneath your uniform. Your body instantly shivers, tightening under the hold. You raise your head a little, but you know whose mask you're gonna jump into.

Ghost has the magical power to bring back the silence. He doesn't even have to speak, just a glare of his is enough. His look hits Soap and Gaz as to say: shut your bloody mouth; and they just roll their eyes at the ceiling, as to say: but we wanna know 'bout her mission, damn it.

Then he lowers on you just that tiny bit that's needed to let you feel his body heat closer, so warm against your cold limbs.

«Your presence is required» he says quickly, almost murmuring against your ear.

And here you are, walking behind his massive figure with eyes lowered on the ground, following his feet at a security distance through the base. He stops a couple of times to talk with someone, moments in which you play camouflaging with the wall; then you two reach a door, and you're so into not-seeing in front of you that you don't even look at where you are. 

He closes the door behind you, and only after a few seconds of embarrassment you find the bravery to mumbling:

«W-who required me?»

«I do»

Your heart skips a beat before your ears could collect his voice and your synapsis could elaborate its meaning. That's when you suddenly raise your sight, finding him clinging on the desk while looking at you through the mask, and even if you can't see his face it's pretty clear that he's judging you. You can read it on the skull, as there's an imaginary -but very perceptible-  neon writing saying: You're a bloody stupid gnome.

Voice escape through your lips automatically: «I'm sorry»

«'Bout what?» he kinda calls you out, pressing with his sternness on your pathetic whimpers.    

Your eyes lower again.

«…causing trouble-»

«Just that?»

You nod. You don't wanna talk about what kinda trouble; but he does.

«Take off your shirt»

Your brain flashes a sudden error signal, allowing you to shiver and wrap your arms tight around yourself. 

«…sir?»

Stupid question. You know why he's asking, the goddamn doctor had probably told him.

«Your shirt» he repeats, not moving from his place.

Two days ago, you would have started a war about this, yelling at him without regrets, brave enough to fight against your superior like two children between one small bucket. 

Not now. Now you just stand in your special spot in the office, allowing your body to move just what is needed to breathe, eyes locked on the floor. You feel him growing impatient, sighing through the mask as you're disappointing him.

«'K. If that's so…»

The sentence remains hanging in the air, and in a matter of seconds, without getting aware of how fast he came toward you, his hands are on your shoulder. You instantly panic but you're too small to fight against his weight that's pushing you against the door, pinning you still with an hand on your breastbone while the other runs to your shirt's hem.

You grab his wrist in a stupid attempt at stopping him, but he lifts the shirt up in one movement, revealing bruises, a bloody bandage, and…a little scar slightly under the belly button, fresh from the oven and still shiny from some medical gel: the writing made out of fire burns on your skin in an elegant gothic style. 

He stares at it, contemplating that swallowed piece of tattooed skin. Your face becomes so red you could spontaneously combust in this exact moment.

«Who made it?» he burst out, whispering harsh words.

You swallow hot air, digging your dry throat and hoping that whatever's gonna come out of your mouth will be the most sensible as possible.

«It's…it…traffic wasn't just 'bout weapons»

«Humans» he talks over immediately. 

You nod your head, specifying with a swallow: «women» 

«You've sneak in as a good to be sold»

«There was no other way to-»

«And they've marked you» his voice's not that high, but you're whispering enough to make it easy for him to have the upper hand on you. You become quiet, avoiding his sight, with your hands still wrapped around his wrist.

«Are you proud?»

The question wasn't expected, spitted roughly through his mouth. You clench your digits, digging in his gloves.

Then you nodd.

«Yes» the answer is a breath, warmth by your boldness and the consciousness that you've done what had to be done. And none would have taken that awareness from you. You eventually lift your sight a little, meeting his mask, letting the skull shape fill your eyes.

«Yes, I am»

You know he's looking at you as if he's got an idiot under his sight. You feel him judging, investigating your behavior, interrogating your posture. And you, trapped between a scary giant and a door, with his cold glove pressed where your belly still hurts, you dare to stare at him for one whole minute.

It seems enough: he lets you go, shaking your hands away from his wrists as he stands in all of his height against you.

«Good soldiers come home alive, little gnome»

«…it's a curious scolding from one who lives a dangerous life»

«I've already told ya: you don't know me»

«But i'm neither deaf nor blind»

«Buy a bloody mirror then». He takes two steps back, letting you breathe freely for the first time since you've entered the room. «Ya can say you see us clear, but speaking of seeing yourself…I can't say the same»

«I know me»   

«It seems not»

Blood starts to rush to your brain as the embarrassment turns into a mixed spoonful of anger and bitterness. You follow him, still at security distance, toward his desk. «Why? 'Cause you've caught me touching myself once and I made one bloody moan?»

«'S not that, and we've already talked enough 'bout it» he mumbled, pretending to not pay attention as he looks through some documents on the table.

«Oh, oh sure! Now we've talked enough about it» your arms end up crossing on your chest. «after you've ripped my elbow»

«It was just a nerve»

«Judicially irrelevant» 

«Shut your bloody mouth»

«Why? 'Cause you've told me s-»

«Yes»

You freeze; that was a cold, hard stone order. He's got his knuckles clenched on the table, his back's muscles are visibly breathing under the pressure of maintaining a glint of calm. 

«You» he turns at you, pointing a finger at your freezed face «you are a goddamn idiot, one of the worst species. I've tried to convince myself you weren't actually so stupid but, damn god, was i right in the first place»

Guilt assaults you with a knife at your throat, for reasons you don't know. And you find your eyes lower, your spirit evaporated, your anger extinguished under his glare. You try to mutter:

«I've just done my duty-»

«You threw away your life»

«The mission had to be done, that was our last possibility to catch that damn illegal traffic» you rush, raising your voice to grow some confidence in your speech «Laswell needed a woman and i just did my damn work!»

And he almost barks back, raising stern and furious eyes at you: «than what 'bout asking someone more experienced, you bloody asshole?!»

«'Cause it was needed a woman with-!». You suddenly stop, biting your inner cheek as a last word slips, almost like a whisper, through your lips: «…inclinations»

He's left speechless for a while, standing in front of you with the finger still hanging toward your figure. You swallow; you know he's going to ask more, and that's just 'cause you can't keep your mouth shut.

As if you've called it, he spit out a terse: «Explain»

You sigh. This would be a great time to sink ten meters underground.

«I» you start gesticulating, drawing figures in the air with your hands «I am…i-»

You expect him to joke about your incapability of connecting two words together; but he remains silent, looking at you almost with curiosity. And you're forced to keep on talking.

«…I like certain things people don't usually…agree to do» you force words outside your mouth, with cheeks on fire and eyes buried on the pavement.

His conclusion wastes no time to come:

«You're a submissive»

It's not a question, it's a truth and it hits you like a brick in the face, as if he'd already understood your particular nature till the beginning. There's no need for more explanation: you know what kind of submissive he's referring to, and he evidently knows just enough about the subject to grin, just a little, under the mask.

«The target was known for his…peculiar sexual tastes». The additional clarification was not necessary, but he gives it anyway. He let out a soft chuckle, almost like he's having fun thinking about it. «I can't believe that Laswell really rely on this stupid trick»

You would really clarify how much Laswell fought against your will to volunteer for that risk, but your voice is gone under the embarrassment. Your digits are digging into cuticles again, and you're about to pretend to not exist, turn your heels and just go away.

And you don't even notice he's got closer again, till he forces your face up by roughly grabbing your cheeks in one hand. 

The disappointment is palpable.

«You've run into that perv's den alone, risking yourself for a mission you knew you couldn't handle…just to satisfy your throbbing cunt?»

That hit you worse than every other thing he's thrown at you till now. Your cheeks catch fire in his hands, guilt choke air in your lungs and poisonous butterflies eat your stomach, whispering through the entrails: he's right.

But you don't want him to be right.

«I've just decided to put every weapon I've got at your service» you spit out.

His grip gets tighter. «Sure thing. And what have you gained? Apart of a saving operation that wasted everyone's time, of course»

«Mission was completed»

«We would have found another way to do it, rookie»

«But I did it» you grab his wrist, trying again to escape from his hold. «And i'm alive, so why the hell are we even talking about-»

It happens all of a sudden: he pushes you again against the door, harder and roughly enough to make your spine squeak on it. You hold a yell, and one second after you can't breathe anymore.

He holds you by your mouth, pushing on your face with his whole hand open, while the other runs down right under your belly, squeezing on your crotch like it's made of play dough.

«This is no playfield». His voice is almost a growl murmur in your ear as he lowers enough to overcome you with his bigger body. «Soldiers have morals. And dignity. Maybe 's not clear to your pretty little brain. So: watch» and he speaks slowly, growling coldness with tongue maid of sharp metal, his eyes on you with that goddamn mask supply (and you're sure you're gonna dream about his sight forever) «your. Bloody. Mouth. Kitty» 

The nickname, the grip on your pants, the fact that you're breaking your personal apnea record…just burn your brain. And, in a loss of breath, trying so desperately to find a way out of that embarrassment while freezing your hormones that are already running too low on your body…

You bite him.

You sink your teeth in his glove as hard as you can, ripping off that goddamn dignity he was speaking about, letting the residual rage work as a fuel for your mouth. He suddenly jerks with a step back, catched by surprise, tearing his hands away, and to do so…he pushes with the other hand on your lower belly.

On your goddamn freshly engraved and barely healed tattoo.

On the scar the doc pleaded with you not to touch.

You spit his glove out of your mouth, yelling like your vocal chords have turn into a megaphone.

Ten minutes later, you two are waiting outside of the infirmary.

The knock on the door doesn't distract him, too focused pretending to find his paperwork attractive.

Price gets in without invitation.

«Just a word» he sits at the desk, usual hat at his place and cigar climbing from his lips «between me and you»

Ghost doesn't lift his sight.

«I've talked with doc-»

«I don't need to be scold 'bout it, if that's what ya'r here for»

Price sighs a low, maybe a little bit too paternal: «Ghost-»

«If you two» Simon raises his voice a little «believe in trusting every goddamn rookie, sending them risking their bloody neck just 'cause they've told you how good they are at shaking their ass-»

«You've already yelled about it, give my ears a rest. In any case, Laswell made the best choice in her position» Captain talks over him. «And I agree with her. We couldn't lose that opportunity, Simon»

«She didn't even managed to end the mission alone»

«But the rookie did a great job. Only problem was taking her out of that shit»

«You can't seriously call a kink exploitation one "great job"»

«She's a soldier. We're not here to babysit, risking our life 's part of our contract»

Silence. 

Price starts to get nervous, feeling some mixed emotions that he really can't stand at six in the evening. He suddenly stands up, patting both hands on the desk, taking a deep breath before exhaling a long, almost exhausted: 

«There's nothing bad in making friends with your allies…»

Ghost is already rushing an "i don't need friends" kinda sentence, but Price anticipates him:

«Me too, i've made friendships on the battlefield that i hope will last as long as my bones will walk on the dirt. Then, we could die together and be happy in whatever hell God'll decide to send us. But» and his "but" was final «i know what you're doing here. Stop it. It's gonna be draining, for the both of you»

Ghost spits out: «I'm doing nothin'», too rushed, then muttering: «Don't even like her»

«I don't care who you like. You can marry whoever you want, you've got my approval»

«For fuck's sake Price-»

«Wanna delete her from your eyesight? Just look straight in front of you from now on. Wanna keep an eye on her?» John raises his hands, throwing Ghost's embarrassment in the air while admitting with the most honest attitude: «Sure. Ok. I keep an eye on you all every goddamn minute of my life. She's not a princess, though. And ya'r not a bloody knight»

Silence becomes again the king in the office. Price is still fixed in his extreme openness, ready to give his Lt. the best suggestions on how-to-not end up again at the infirmary with that goddamn rookie (before the doc kills the both of them).

Then Ghost finally raises his gaze.

And Price has a bad sensation in his guts, almost like he'd said something he shouldn't have.

«Keeping…an eye on her» Simon repeats, lost in thoughts.

John nodds, hesitating before leaving the office.

..................................................

[credince--writes]

Security Protocol

No, the Vibrator is going to be changed to Buzzer from now on. Lesson learned.

Jitters Au

AO3

This wasn't the first time she was sent out to a base.

This was probably the third, actually.

Laswell would send her where she was needed, so a lot of the time she found herself drifting around. She'd be stationed somewhere, finish up the needed task, and then run back to Laswell like a lap dog waiting to go fetch the ball again.

it sucked,

but so would sitting in a jail cell so this would have to do.

The particular team she was stationed with was once again some kind of special force needing someone behind a screen that knew what they were doing, mainly to route them through a complex series of tunnels while avoiding security systems. Shutting off power when necessary.

Teaming up with some British team, she couldn't exactly remember the name she was too busy directing Sergeant Dumbass through a tunnel.

"You're going to have a series of laser security systems roughly twenty feet in front of you. Big red door next to it. Don't pass it until I give you the clear." Jitters spoke into her microphone.

"How the hell do you know it's red."

"I'm looking at you. I can see your bald spot." She responded.

The man she was observing through the screen turned around to face the camera and flipped it off before following his directed path.

"Alright... Hang tight for a moment please." She says, tapping into a separate comm unit.

"Miles this is Jitters, what is the status?"

"Dealing with some issues."

"What kind of issues."

"They're being resolved don't worry about it."

"Miles I have three minutes before I lose stability on my end. Whatever issues you're running into need to resolved fast."

There was silence on the other end.

....

That wasn't the last time Miles had become a major threat, and pain in her ass. It wasn't that he was totally incompetent, just enough that he was constantly putting teams in danger.

Constantly putting people in danger, either because he was still too bull-headed to accept help when she was trying to give it, or was trying to prove himself in some respect.

That was until the current team they were assisting left, leaving the two of them with the base squad while another task force was brought in.

She had heard in rumors around the base that this task force- 141 is what it was called was something different. They were put on the real dirty jobs. The things that needed to be kept quiet.

She realized this when she was put into a separate briefing room from the rest of the squad she was stationed with. She was going to know more sensitive information, her and Miles, that is.

It was a pretty simple mission, but from what she understood very bloody on one end. It was infiltrating an enemy base, force, or stealth.

Whatever was necessary.

The day 141 arrived she was sitting on a crate fidgeting with one of the radios a private had brought up to her needing fixed. She didn't know what was up with them, but they seemed absolutely prone to breaking things in the most moronic ways. Made sense though, she saw a group of them dragging a fellow private around the warehouse floor as a mop.

The sound of a helicopter landing could be heard in closer proximity than normal, and the rolling doors opened to reveal the awaiting squad.

One thing Jitters always found amusing was the strange choices of hair, facial hair, or not that the men in the military would choose. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Miles approach, his chest puffed out in an attempt to stand taller as he approached her.

"I want Skull." He said.

She quirked a brow. "Bet he'll chew you up n' spit you out." She responded.

"Masked ones are always important." He responded. "You can take whatever team the skull guy isn't on."

"Hm." She responded.

They were definitely observant, they had to be or they would be dead. Scanning and surveying the room. She watched as a grown-ass man with a mohawk stared at the two of them.

She matched his gaze, returning his intensity before he blinked and looked away. Miles had already left her side, walking to the debriefing room where the new arrivals were headed too.

She sighed and stood up, following Miles to the room where the men had already gathered and seated around the table. Peeking her head in after Miles she stepped in.

"Right on time you too." She heard Lt. Gulch say, he was heading the table. Getting ready to explain new developments that had occurred in the last hour or so.

Jitters settled at the back of the table, sitting next to a man with a unibrow of a mustache on his face while Miles scurried over to sit in the general proximity of the masked giant at the table.

Lunch began to lecture on about developments, explaining that the team would be split into two. One going from under, another storming in from the top of the building to sandwich in the center, then moving on to secure multiple other locations.

"Which is why we have these two here today, one will be assigned to each of your teams. I'll allow you to choose as they will be a part of your respective teams for the next week." Gulch continued.

Miles stood up, introducing his name and rank, and then sat down.

Jitters looked at him, then looked around the room not bothering to stand up. "They call me Jitters."

There were a few questionable glances given in response. Mustache piping up from next to her. "What about your Name & Rank?"

Gulch piped in. "Classified, and Jitters is a PMC sent in specifically for this assignment."

She watched as Mowhawk sat back in his chair and grumbled something to Skullface. Before he piped up. "Why is there a PMC on this job, do we not have techs?"

"Laswell had her sent in specifically, I'm under higher orders from General Spots, and advisement of Laswell. Which I don't plan on ignoring, is that a problem MacTavish?"

Mowhawk MacTavish sighed, and sat back. "No. Ghost and I will take Miles then."

Skullface nodded.

Apparently, his name was Ghost.

Mustache nodded, "Alright then. Jitters." He said with a little bit of hesitancy. "You, Gaz, and I will be the second team infiltrating from the top of the building once our first steps are secured."

She gave him a nod. "Is this still a pack & pull operation? Two, one, and gather?" She asked to the inhabitants of the room.

"Yes," Gulch started. "Team two will be in the field for two days while Team one remains in the field for one, returns to drop off, then stays until Team one meets back. Both teams will then follow to finish in one day- or however long it takes to fulfill the remaining objectives."

Jitters leaned back in her seat. "Are they aware of how it's going to work?" She nods her head back to the man behind her.

Gulch shrugs a little. "Was hoping you could explain, you start losing me when you're going on about satellites."

"I can." Miles volunteers, standing up.

"We are going to be equipping you all with specialized comms' routed through one of our satellites for this mission. We will be able to remotely access cameras throughout your route and give information as needed. Once you reach your target point, question and deal with the target then we will work on acquiring intel in either of these two points." He points behind him at the map. "Once the initial is finished, your teams will separate once more to finish out delegated tasks. The comm. systems are separated to further security, so all traffic will need to be routed through us."

"Why will our comms be separated?" Gaz asks.

"Well-" Miles starts.

"It's in case one of you is KIA, or has your communications compromised. Doesn't compromise both groups, keeps it segregated into one team." Jitters bump in. "Miles also forgot to mention the lockout segments of the map where no one will be able to get any communications out. From what we know they lined these segments well enough to half any communication traffic through their walls. You'll all have to resort to more unique means of keeping the communication line open."

"Enlighten us." Ghost said, crossing his arms.

"One of each of your team is going to have to secure access to the vent system once you gain access to the fortified rooms. Your partner will be able to hear you through the vent, and the partner inside the vent will be able to further communicate."

"I won't fit in a vent." MacTavish says matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure you'll manage."

The door opened, and one of the other Lt.'s had popped in "Jitters you're needed immediately."

Gulch shot a glare. "What is it?"

"Laswell is on the line right now." They responded.

"God Damn it." Jitters groaned. Standing up and turning "Yea, Yea, I'll be there in a second. Miles finish where I left off and don't forget half."

...

Had the call been important? Not really. It was more as if her mother had called to give her a preliminary chewing out before she was sent off to summer camp. Finishing off the call with "Don't let anything get in the way of this mission."

"Yes Ma'am."

Walking out of the private room she was pulled into the take-the-call with Laswell, and something pumped into her shoulder. Looking over she was met at equal height with Miles.

"Don't Ever." He pushed her shoulder against the wall and leaned up to her, "Pull what shit again in a meeting again. You don't fool me."

"Kids. What the fuck are you doing?" They heard Gulch's voice.

"Nothing Luitenant." Miles answers quickly, before leaving.

"Captain Price and I would like a word." Gulch says, before leading her and Price into the same meeting room as before.

"I need to know that you'll have our backs." Price says, tilting his head down to match her gaze. "We've had a... Bad track record with PMCs."

She shrugs. "I don't think Laswell would've sent me here if I wasn't going to cover you. I was briefed on the mission before you came here, when it was still supposed to be in the Nordics."

"How do you know Laswell?" Price asks.

Jitters looks at Gulch, who shrugs in response.

"I'm who Laswell sends out when things need to be done right, if that makes any sense." Jitters replies simply.

Price nods. "Perfect. See you in the morning."

"Yea..." She says, watching the two leave her in the empty room.

..

Waking up bright and early- it couldn't even be called that. It was nighttime. Dark. And fucking cold. That's what it was. Waking up dark and cold.

Jitters grumbled to herself, pulling on her clothes for the day and picking up two gadgets off of her work table, and making her way outside.

"Good to see you're finally up." She heard Miles say from the side of her as she walked into the warehouse where the men were suiting up.

She walked up to Gaz and Price who were prepping their weapons and gear. "Come here please." She says, rubbing her eyes.

"What's up?" Gaz asks.

Jitters reaches into her pocket and pulls out two small button-like forms. "These are vibrators- God." She groans. "Not like that though, here." She reaches out and grabs Gaz's hand, pulling him a little closer to her. Grabbing his glove and sliding it into the center of his hand.

"If you're in a situation that you can't verbally respond, you buzz me. I'll be asking yes and no questions. Two for no and three for yes." She explains, handing the other to Price before looking at her watch. "Example." She taps on her wrist twice, and the two men look down at the feeling of the little machine buzzing on the top of their hands.

"I'll be asking you something along the lines of checkpoint reached. I know this is going to be a stealth operation so minimizing any potential faults in your navigation is at the height of my priority."

"Thanks, neva' had something like this before." Gaz says.

Price nods, "We will establish a connection when we reach point A."

Jitters nodded, "copy that."

She met back up with Miles as the team departed. "You got some brown on your face." She comments to him.

"Fuck you." Was all he responded.

....

After the connections were established, the teams had moved out. From what she gathered Miles was having to deal with all of the feedback from water sloshing in the comms.

Ha, karma.

Advancements on her end were made quickly and methodically, leading the team through their routes with limited enemy casualties to maintain the stealth the mission required.

Soon enough the garble could be heard over the comms.

"Entering blackout area, be advised. Notify when placement is established overhead."

She waited.

And waited.

In reality, it was only a few minutes before she felt three buzzes on her wrist.

"Establish a connection, notify when established."

Soon enough, three buzzes were felt again on her arm.

"Maintain your location until advised. Waiting for the crash."

One, two three.

Yes.

She stood up, looking over to Miles who was frantically typing.

"Miles I need an ETA."

"Dealing with complications." He mutters out.

"Miles I have limited time, sort your shit out."

"Location compromised," Miles yelled out.

"Fuck." Jitters whisper yelled. Rushing back to her desk she established a connection with Price and Gaz. "Changing plans, begin upload procedures now. You'll be seeing friends in less than five."

One, two three.

Leaving her desk, but keeping the earpiece for her team in her ear she marched over to Miles. "Tell me what's happening."

"Triggered security protocol Alpha-3."

Her gaze hardened on him. "You're shitting me."

"No!" He yelled.

"We need our eyes here Miles." She could hear the voice of Mactavish through his piece.

"How could you of fucked it that bad?"

"Shut up!" Miles snapped back at her.

"Move." She responded.

"What?"

"You heard me. Move."

"Miles!" MacTavish emphasizes in his comm.

"Fuckin' move." Jitters reach over and push him out for eh chair, quickly sliding in and tapping a few letters on the keyboard.

"What the fuck is going on over there." Ghost hisses through the comm.

"There is a room 200 feet to your left. It will be next to the main line in the underground system. Get there now." Jitters orders.

"What?" Mactavish asks.

"Move your ass. Now!" She all but yells into the microphone.

"Jitters how copy?" She can hear Gaz ask.

"Hold." She says, merging the two communications teams together.

"Sounded like you were fighting back there." Gaz comments.

"I was. connection established- both ends. Can you hear us?" She asks.

"Affirmative." The four men all but say in unison.

"Security protocol Alpha-3 has been activated, meaning I am going to need some coordination on both sides. Gaz I need you to slide back to where you were a bit ago- the panel with the blue lights."

"Copy."

"Price you'll need to take that cord you've got plugged into the system and remove it, ignore the lost progress it doesn't matter what matters is making sure this isn't fucked."

"Copy."

"Ghost I need you to cover while Mac' opens up the panel that should be next to the outgoing pipe. That is a centralized break. One of them should be labeled with a XX83. When I say, flip it and get ready for it to go dark. You'll need to use your night vision to move through the rest of your trajectory. We are trying to make this look like a simple malfunction in the security system. A glitch."

"In the location" Gaz affirms.

"Gaz remember those two wires I just had you cut?"

"Yes."

"I need you to cut the third to the right- white with writing on it. And You're gonna need to stick the two hot ends together. it's gonna make a light show so don't stick your head in there. Notify when complete."

She waited a few moments.

"We have inbound security patrol." Ghost replies.

"Copy. Standby." She replies.

"It's complete," Gaz Responds. "You were right, made a hell of a show."

"Flip it now MacTavish."

"Copy."

"Lights will be down for roughly 45 seconds. You need to move now you too. Price plug in now."

"Copy."

"Established."

"Alright, the security system is resetting. Clear, for now, finish that download and get the fuck out of there."

She leans back in her seat, glancing over to meet the glare of Miles. Disconnecting the Coms from each other she shot him a glance. "You want your job back? Or are you gonna fuck it up again?" She sneers.

"Get out of my chair."

"Fine by me, this chair smells like shit anyways."